“Is it, after all, a fool I am dealing with!” he sneered.  “And I—­what should I say?  That you had stolen the stones from your employer and offered them as a bribe to silence me, and that I had refused.  The very act of handing you over to the police would prove the truth of what I said and rob you of even a chance of leniency—­for that other thing.  Is it not so—­eh?  And why did I not hand you over at once three nights ago?  Believe me, my young friend, I should have a very good reason ready, a dozen, if necessary, if it came to that.  But we are borrowing trouble, are we not?  We shall not come to that—­eh?”

For a moment it seemed to Jimmie Dale, as he watched, that Burton would hurl himself upon the other.  White to the lips, the muscles of his face twitching, Burton clenched his fists and leaned over the table—­and then, with sudden revulsion of emotion, he drew back once more, and once more came that choked sob: 

“You’ll pay for this, Isaac—­your turn will come for this!

“I have been threatened very often,” snapped the other contemptuously.  “Bah, what are threats!  I laugh at them—­as I always will.”  Then, with a quick change of front, his voice a sudden snarl:  “Well, we have talked enough.  You have your choice.  The stones or—­eh?  And it is to-night—­now!”

The old pawnbroker sprawled back in his chair, a cunning leer on his vicious face, a gleam of triumph, greed, in the beady, ratlike eyes that never wavered from the other.  Burton, moisture oozing from his forehead, stood there, hesitant, staring back at old Isaac, half in a fascinated gaze, half as though trying to read some sign of weakness in the bestial countenance that confronted him.  And then, very slowly, in an automatic, machine-like way, his hand groped into the inside pocket of his vest—­and old Isaac cackled out in derision.

“So!  You thought you could bluff me, eh—­you thought you could fool old Isaac!  Bah!  I read you like a book!  Did I not tell you a while back that you had them in your pocket?  I know your kind, my young friend; I know your kind very well indeed—­it is my business.  You would not have dared to come here to-night without the price.  So!  You took them this afternoon as we agreed.  Yes, yes; you did well.  You will not regret it.  And now let me see them”—­his voice rose eagerly—­“let me see them now, my young friend.”

“Yes, I took them.”  Burton spoke listlessly.  “God help me!”

Old Isaac, quivering, excited, like a different creature now, sprang from his chair, and, as Burton drew a long, flat, leather case from his pocket, snatched it from the other’s hand.  His fingers in their rapacious haste could not at first manipulate the catch, and then finally, with the case open, he bent over the table feverishly.  The light reflected back as from some living mass of crimson fire, now shading darkly, now glowing into wondrous, colourful transparency as he moved the case to and fro with jerky motions of his hands—­and he was babbling, crooning to himself like one possessed.